


but never have I been a blue calm sea (I have always been a storm)

by gutsandglitter



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: F/F, Listen I came here to drink diet Coke and write femslash and I'm all out of diet Coke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 11:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11759043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsandglitter/pseuds/gutsandglitter
Summary: “We built this holiday. You and me.”The history of Ostara and Media's relationship.





	but never have I been a blue calm sea (I have always been a storm)

_“We built this holiday. You and me.”_

 

The others had come to her first. Nikolaos, with his paunchy belly and white whiskers, claiming all of her attention for the month of December. Vulcan with his headlining bandits and mass murderers, later glorified by blockbuster shoot ‘em ups. The leprechauns, the faeries, the occasional Jinn. All of them tyrants, demanding her respect and obedience simply because they were her elders. 

But then there was Easter.

Sweet, fair Easter. Easter of the dawn, with her warm spring-colored eyes and a smile that pulled roses from their buds. Easter who offered Media her hand and led her through Time, helping her grow into something worthy of worship. 

Easter who kissed her at the birth of the twentieth century, beneath a bough of technicolor cherry blossoms. 

They had fallen madly, deeply, dangerously in love, and for a while they were happy. Media would throw out a distraction to keep her devotees at bay -- women’s magazines, radio dramas, Elvis Presley -- and slip away to Easter’s country estate, where they would feed each other brightly-colored candies and make love in the clover fields for hours on end.

Together they had devised a holiday, a new way of celebrating Easter’s feast day. Easter had insisted upon pastel everything, enormous hats and Sunday finery; Media had complied, adding her own little touches with sugar, cartoon bunnies, and that movie with the sad songbird who died so young. 

They’d thrown lavish parties together every year, feasting and drinking and dancing well into the night, their flushed faces lit by the light of the spring stars -- Antlia, Vela, Leo, Carina. Sometimes Easter could even be persuaded to sing, her warm coloratura never failing to bring a smile to Media’s face. 

_When you’re near_  
_there's such an air of Spring about it,_  
_I can hear a lark somewhere begin to sing about it._  
_There's no love song finer, but how strange_  
_the change from major to minor_  
_every time we say goodbye…_

But gods are proud, spiteful creatures by nature, no matter where or when they are conceived. There were drumbeats sounding in the distance, and the others began to draw lines in the sand around them. Their circle could not hold its center.

Easter seemed blind to her impending obsolescence. She absorbed worship that was not her own, took the praise and thanks meant for the humble carpenter without a second thought. When Media tried to point this out Easter laughed it off, referring to her growing flock of Jesuses as her pets. She refused to take a meeting with Mr. World, complaining that he seemed like “an awful bore,” and shrugged the Technology Boy off as “a brat.” 

To make matters worse, Media saw the way Wednesday looked at Easter. She saw the way the elfin blonde gravitated towards him and his cohort at gatherings. She had no interest in being made new again, in joining the gods of the twenty-first century. It didn’t matter what Media did for her or how much she sacrificed, Easter’s loyalty would always be with Them.

Media’s last attempt to pull her across the widening divide had ended in a shouting match.

“How dare you talk down to me!” Easter had raged. “When I found you, you were barely more than an idea, just a wet lump of newspaper and copies of Harper’s. And now you tell me I’m not good enough?”

At the sound of her raised voice, a nearby rosebush shriveled and turned to ash.

“I hardly think my survival depended on you,” Media had shot back. “You on the other hand needed me, desperately. And you still do.”

“I don’t need anyone. I’ve been around for thousands of years, and I’ll be around for a thousand more.”

Media opened her mouth to respond, but Easter held up a hand.

“I think you should go,” she said, voice flat. “Just...just go.”

*****

That had been three years prior. Media had complied and stayed away, with no contact or further pleas.

She didn’t pine, she was far too proud for that. Besides, she didn’t have time for it; there were strings to pull, men to manipulate, alliances to form. Wednesday wanted a war, and she was determined to make sure he never got one.

Still, every spring brought with it a profound sadness, an emptiness that no amount of power seemed to be able to fill.

So when she heard that Wednesday would be bringing his little disciple to that year’s celebration, she knew she had to go. She would win her lover back using charm, logic, and that delicious little pink number with the hat and gloves. Easter would see reason and understand that she really did need Media to protect her and keep her safe. They would kiss and make up, Media would convince her to join the winning team, and she'd snatch her right out from under Wednesday’s bulbous nose. Maybe she’d kill Shadow too while she was at it, just for sport.

 

But alas, the best-laid plans of gods and men often go to shit.

 

Wednesday (Odin, Glad-of-War, whoever-the-fuck) had gotten to her, as he always did. She felt the anger begin to course through her veins, felt the divine desire to damn, to smite. She had snapped at Easter, not bothering to pull any punches this time.

_“It’s religious Darwinism. Adapt and survive.”_

 

She’d regretted the words almost instantly, but it didn’t matter. 

Now here was her bubbly, lighthearted love standing before a vast field of ruin, her childlike grin a stark contrast to the fields of scorched earth surrounding them. Silhouetted against the gray skies and miles of wasteland with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Media found her to be almost unrecognizable. She looked righteous. She looked powerful. 

She looked like a queen.

Media took a shaky breath, noting a tang in the air that had not been there before. It was sharp, acrid, and smelled faintly of brimstone.

 _War_ , she thought. _It’s the smell of war._

Her stomach turned. She looked helplessly at Easter, her Easter, the one she had sought to protect. The only god she had ever prayed to. 

_Easter._

No.

_Ostara._

 

_“What have you done?”_


End file.
